


An Exercise in Loyalty

by stellarumsalve



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Fighting, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Partnership, Pining, Rivalry, Slow Burn, They are boyfriends, do NOT separate them, i guess?, oh wait they also, soft, uhhh
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-10-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 19:21:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,778
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26384068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stellarumsalve/pseuds/stellarumsalve
Summary: If there were two things that Knuckle and Shoot would learn, it was loyalty and love. Neither of them came easy.A development of Knuckle and Shoot's friendship/relationship/eventual love. (I promise.)
Relationships: Knuckle Bine/Shoot McMahon
Comments: 24
Kudos: 63





	1. Rivalry

**Author's Note:**

> since theres no content for this ship i must take it upon myself... and create the content i wish to see... this takes place in the early days of knuckle & shoot's partnership under morel.

Knuckle and Shoot’s powers were always meant for incapacitating, never for killing. Knuckle’s Hakoware, when bankrupt, would restrict Nen for thirty days, but it was sure to come back. And Shoot’s Hotel Rafflesia could imprison entire bodies, but he could also release them at any time.

So when it came to sparring, the two would quite often reach an impasse, where Shoot's great proficiency in his Nen would match Knuckle's raw strength as a fighter. It was then that their intensely differing personalities clashed, and their true potential shined. Their mentor absolutely loved it when that happened.

It was a bright summer afternoon, and the sun shone relentlessly on the open field beneath it. In the center stood two young men, a great distance apart from each other, but neither letting their guard down. Between them was a giant of a man, slinging a pipe around his shoulders that matched his person in every sense of the word. His sunglasses glinted in the light as he grinned boldly.

The two combatants were none other than Shoot McMahon and Knuckle Bine, the two diligent pupils of Morel Mackernassy. But no fighting had taken place yet—in fact, it seemed as though none of them were doing anything. Of course, _seemed_ is the key word here.

Amid the buzzing chorus of cicadas, Shoot’s heartbeat pounded in his ears, drowning everything out. It was unbearably hot that day, and although he’d already shedded his familiar purple robe, he was still sweating and slightly dizzy. Was it his nerves? Possibly. The partly mortifying state of being clothed in only his bandaged undergarments wasn’t really helping either.

Despite it all, he kept his steady eyes trained on his partner—and at the moment, his opponent—Knuckle. Actually, he wasn’t sure if he’d call him his partner. Perhaps he was more of a classmate. They weren’t exactly the closest... Shoot forced the thoughts out of his head and refocused on Knuckle.

He’d removed his large overcoat in favor of going shirtless, which was something Shoot hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. His body was tanned and certainly more muscular than his own, which was paler and more fragile in comparison. Knuckle held a perpetual air of strength that intimidated anyone around him. That included Shoot, and it was why he kept his distance. Not just in fighting, but in everday life with him, too. His watchful eyes were making sure he wouldn’t take advantage of him on the first move, trailing the way his feet shifted across the grass, how his arms tensed in anticipation, the glistening sweat on his chest—

Knuckle shot him a deathly glare. Shoot blinked and quickly averted his gaze. Ah. At some point, his observing had turned into staring. It was a bad habit of his.

Suddenly, just as soon as the two had breached the tension between them, Morel’s voice boomed throughout the field, silencing the cicadas and all the other qualms lingering in the air:

“BEGIN!” He stepped back, swinging his pipe upward and pointing to the sky as a signal.

And no sooner had Morel slung the pipe back around his shoulders and walked away to take his seat in the grass, than Shoot and Knuckle began their dash to one another. The cicadas buzzed once again and the drumming heartbeat resumed.

Here, Shoot had the clear advantage. Though he wasn’t physically the strongest, he made up for it with his unmatchable speed and concentration; these were two qualities Knuckle lacked in. Shoot managed to close the gap before the other could react, and sent out his three Nen hands toward his opponent.

Shoot’s icy, clear-cut stare gripped his partner intensely. It was what caused Knuckle's instincts to fall behind a hair too slow, dodging the hands, but not Shoot’s own hand coming straight for his right eye. Before he knew it, his vision was lopsided and hazy, and he slipped to his left. Like Shoot, this was something about the other that he hadn't gotten used to yet. Hotel Rafflesia. It was upsetting and disorienting, to be harmed without feeling any actual pain. Having a blind spot but no blood or bruise to show for it. It pissed him off. But caught up in a flurry of his emotions, Knuckle hadn’t even thought to retaliate with a punch. He looked up to face his opponent once more.

Shoot had dashed by him in an instant, then ground to a halt in the short summer grass. The three hands returned to him, one now holding a conjured birdcage with the stolen eye in it. They weren't sent out to harm Knuckle, of course, just to distract him. He hated the thought of causing someone elses' pain—it made his stomach weak—and that's precisely why he chose Hotel Rafflesia to work the way it did.

Shoot began to do what he did best, and observed Knuckle again. There was about a ten meter gap between them. The way he was swaying slightly to his left told him he was still disoriented. _The blind spot is your chance_ , he told himself. _Go_. _You can definitely land a blow on him now._

The words echoed in his head as he watched the other man prepare himself to charge. The sweat dripped down his neck. _Go! You need to knock him out!_ All too suddenly, Knuckle bounded at him, left arm reared back into a fist. Shoot's instincts caused him to jump back. His heartbeat pounded a rhythm in his head. The three hands trailed close behind him. He jumped back, again and again, as Knuckle's fists came flying at him, their aim leaning slightly to his left. _Come on! Just hit him!_

Despite his internal urging, Shoot couldn't bring himself to do it. If there was anything he hated more than causing pain, it was taking advantage of others. He was dashing backwards now, through the grass and over the twigs and stones. And just as his foot unluckily caught on one of the pebbles, Knuckle's right fist connected with Shoot's collarbone. The shock radiated through his body in an instant.

He gasped in pain and his eyes went wide as he fell to the ground, Nen hands wavering slightly. But his opponent didn't spare any time for mercy. One foot slammed down, too hard on Shoot's chest. The breath was forced out of his lungs as he struggled to shove him off with his other hands. Knuckle coldly swatted them away as he leaned back to deliver another right hook.

But in a stroke of luck, Shoot chose fight over flight and raised his arm to block the blow before it could reach his face. And just like that, the fist was gone, replaced by a gray haze. One right hand appeared in Hotel Rafflesia's birdcage.

Knuckle's eyes filled with indignance, but he simply stepped off his chest and assumed a fighting stance with his remaining left hand. His right side was now almost completely defenseless, save for his right leg and forearm. Shoot heaved, rising with trembling knees. It certainly didn’t take much to knock the wind out of him.

 _You were too late_ , he chided himself. _Now, his Nen ability will—_

"It's time! You have accrued interest," the tiny mascot floated beside the faltering Shoot and declared its arrival: APR, the Amortizing Power Redirector. This was Hakoware, the Nen ability Shoot had only dealt with once before. The first time, he'd gone bankrupt quite quickly and lost his Nen for thirty days. But this time, he decided he wouldn't lose—he couldn't.

Shoot paused to take stock of the situation. As he'd observed before, it seemed like his maximum aura output was around 16,000. Maybe 12,000 in the state he was in. The counter would rise by 10% every ten seconds... The starting loan, he saw on the mascot's head, was 300... He'd be using his aura at an alarming rate if Knuckle continued to beat down on him... And if each punch only dealt around 150 aura to pay it back, then—

"It's time! You have accrued interest!" The counter rose to 330. _Every ten seconds..._

Shoot gulped. This battle would be over in less than twenty minutes. Could he even last that long? Neither of them had said a word since it started—none were needed—but the resentment that lingered in the air was palpable and heavy. It pervaded Shoot’s mind, making him freeze in terror. His legs felt stuck to the ground, trapped in the grass, like he couldn’t bring himself to move even if he wanted to. It was a familiar feeling: the anxiety of being locked in battle. It was what he felt the first time he faced Hakoware: utterly helpless, since he couldn’t muster the courage to hit Knuckle at all. And now...

His two free Nen hands trembled in the air. Terror gripped his stomach. The counter rose again. But neither Knuckle nor Shoot made a move.

_Go. Go. GO!_

The voice urged and urged, but Shoot could barely step forward an inch. It was then he noticed that the counter was rising at an unusually fast pace. It was already past 800. It should have taken much longer to get to that number. He furrowed his brow in confusion. Unless...

A pit in his stomach formed. There could only be one reason. _It was because he was using Hotel Rafflesia._ It took a large amount of aura to capture, transport, and shrink a body part. Even more to maintain it there for the duration of an entire battle. Plus, he had to conjure and manipulate three hands and a birdcage. _So that means_ , Shoot ruminated nervously, _I’ll definitely go bankrupt soon_. That was why his aura had drained so quickly the first time. He was expending way more than he could manage to pay back. Shoot stood there, unable to make a decision.

 _But then..._ _how am I supposed to defeat him?_

Knuckle spat at the ground, impatiently eyeing his opponent. This was taking _too_ long. What the hell was keeping him stuck there? If he had to bet, Shoot was probably overthinking the whole thing. He was just lingering there, staring at him blankly. He didn’t even see that the counter had already risen to 1,120. It irritated Knuckle more than he thought it would. Maybe it was the fact that he hated when an enemy hesitated. It made him feel like he was an unworthy adversary. He narrowed his eyes at him, now angered and full of resolve.

 _Fine._ Knuckle grit his teeth. _If you’re not gonna come to me... I’m comin’ to you!!_ He made up his mind, planting his left foot firmly in the ground before taking off, ready to launch a right kick. When he was close enough, he jumped up and launched his right leg forward at full force.

But just as Knuckle closed in, he saw something in Shoot’s eyes that wasn’t there before. A dark glint of icy determination, something so rare that it caught him completely off guard, sending a cold shock down his spine. Before he realized it, a fist came flying for his right jaw—right where he couldn’t have seen it.

 _He... He actually took advantage of my blind spot!?_ Knuckle thought, stunned as he came crashing down into the dirt. But he wasted no time on his thoughts, getting up in a matter of seconds and brushing the muck off his elbows. He had to admit, a fight was always more enjoyable when it was a little rough.

1,870. _I figured it out_ , Shoot said to himself in a grim tone as the counter ticked higher and higher. His head was on the verge of spinning and his eyes could barely concentrate on the target right in front of him, but Shoot’s resolve was unmoving. _If I can’t help using my Nen either way..._ It was the first time he’d ever been pushed to this extremity.

_...Then I’ll use everything._

2,330. The flying hand circled back around to Shoot, joining the other two. That made three, since now Hotel Rafflesia’s birdcage sat a few feet behind him. There was no more time for watching and waiting—he had to _fight, dammit._ Despite the burning in his chest and the threatening weakness of his knees, Shoot defiantly stood his ground.

Knuckle exhaled sharply, focusing his aura into his left fist—

But the three hands soared at him in an instant. He shot up his forearms to block their punches, forgetting about the focused aura. He was shocked yet again. He’d expected Shoot to hesitate, maybe to wait a little longer. But he hadn’t, not in the slightest. Was this his true fighting spirit? Knuckle grit his teeth as he took punch after punch, his heels digging into the ground.

4,180. Shoot’s heartbeat was so much louder than before, it was almost deafening, but he watched carefully for his opening. As soon as he saw the shadow of a falter in Knuckle’s movements, Shoot rushed to the left, the blind side, and punched Knuckle’s ribcage with all his strength. He hacked as the punch sent unfamiliar ripples through his core. A gray fog appeared in his side, replacing the skin and muscles. Knuckle lurched back, the pain fading but the fire in his eyes refusing to. Part of his abdomen appeared in the birdcage.

5,000. Not even a direct hit could make a dent in the debt that had accrued. The cost of using aura for his hands, his cage, and the body parts outweighed any payment Shoot could have made almost unfairly. Now with three parts in the cage, Hotel Rafflesia was eating up about 1,500 Nen per ten seconds. Before he could even steady his feet, the counter ticked up again to 6,580. The fatigue of battle was starting to take its toll. But there was no time to waste. Shoot sent his three hands out again, spending another few hundred aura.

Knuckle’s focus was completely on APR as he fought back the barrage of flying fists. Unbelievably, Shoot didn’t pay his debt any mind at all. _Despite the physical and mental strain... Why is he still going?_ Knuckle’s breathing staggered. He had never seen Shoot like this before. It was crazy, almost terrifying, how determined he was to fight. He stood there, panting, clearly beginning to get worn out, while Knuckle had barely broken a sweat. Stamina was his advantage.

7,560. Knuckle dodged and blocked each of the punches, but with each one it seemed like, miraculously, they were getting used to his rythm. _This has to be taking most, if not all of his concentration,_ Knuckle thought, looking back at APR.

_Isn’t he worried about his Nen?_

8,940. Shoot’s eyes darkened as he suddenly dashed to Knuckle’s right side again, ready to punch. Knuckle’s alertness didn’t miss this and he turned sharply to his right, even if it was his blind spot.

 _Wait, why am_ I _worrying about_ his _Nen!? It ain’t even mine!!_

Just before Shoot could punch him again, Knuckle leaned back and launched his right leg up in a kick, despite it being a shot in the dark. He felt his knee connect with Shoot’s chest as he let the momentum carry his leg forward.

The impact sent Shoot flying backward into the dirt, and his hands stopped momentarily. Knuckle stomped his right foot into the ground, watching the other’s movements carefully. But his mind wouldn’t stop running.

_He’s my opponent, not my friend— So then why am I still..._

10,250. Shoot’s arm trembled as he scraped himself up off his back. His knees buckled and refused to get up. Knuckle grit his teeth.

_Why am I still hesitating?_

The familiar taste of pity crawled up Knuckle’s throat. It wouldn’t be long before the tears followed. Despite his urging, his feet remained stuck to the ground, stubborn and emotional.

_C’mon. It would be so easy to just—_

11,970.

Shoot heaved, his breath falling out as raw gasps. The three hands were completely still. They could do nothing now but flicker in and out of existence. The fog around Knuckle’s right eye blurred and unblurred. _He’s hurt. At this rate, his Nen will—_

_That doesn’t matter! Just—!_

Knuckle willed his feet forward, step by heavy step. But Shoot simply lay there, chest rising and falling, exhausted.

_—Hit him!!_

Knuckle wiped furiously at his eyes. Shoot, helpless, stared at the sky.

Just before the counter could tick up for the last time, APR disappeared.

Silence. Then,

The first word since the battle started was spoken.

“....What?” It was barely a whisper that fell from Shoot’s mouth. His hands disappeared completely and his head fell slack to his shoulders, too tired to even lift his eyes to meet Knuckle's.

 _He... removed APR? But why?_ Shoot's vision was starting to blur, the pale pink lines of sunset fading into purples and blues. Nothing made sense. His Nen should be gone, taken by the bankruptcy. He was prepared to lose. It was his own fault, anyways, for being reckless.

_So then why... why did Knuckle...?_

“Enough," Morel announced. He slung up his pipe around his shoulders and headed in the direction of the city. “Time to go back. You’re both completely spent. C’mon. Sun’s setting.” The tone in his voice was strong, but not reprimanding. It was just that. Time to go back.

Before he knew it, Shoot was lifted off the ground. The world spun around him, dark and hot and dizzy. To his utter dismay, it was Knuckle who supported his weak body, shouldering his arm and holding his waist. If it was out of pity or obligation, Shoot couldn't tell. He was so, so tired.

There would be nothing to say until they got back to the apartment.

Shoot thought he felt tears on his shoulder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i’d say the fight lasted from around 2pm to 6pm. pretend the sun sets early :3


	2. The Line Between Pity & Care

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shoot tries to determine what separates pity from care. He fails.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im floating this ship alive even if im the last man standing. eat up, knuckle & shoot fans, i have some hurt/comfort today >:)

It was painfully silent as Knuckle, Shoot, and Morel returned to their apartment in the city. The light was dim now, the rays of sunset retreating into the coolness of evening. The people in the streets were headed home, and the world seemed to thin out and settle into a peaceful quiet. But there was none of that peace between Knuckle and Shoot. There was nothing but anxiety.

Knuckle had done his best to make them both look decent before they left. “Decent” to him apparently meant throwing his overcoat on hastily and sloppily tying Shoot’s robe together. They had said nothing to each other when it happened. It was both too awkward and far too intimate.

Shoot’s feet dragged and stumbled on the ground. They felt heavy and limp, unable to support his own weight. His chest still felt tight, sore and damaged. It would definitely need to be bandaged. He felt the familiar gnawing self-hatred in his chest, too, for letting himself be helped. And by his _partner_ , nonetheless—no, that’s not right. Opponent? That’s what they were doing, right? Fighting... as opponents...

Images of Knuckle’s hesitation flashed in Shoot’s mind. How he left him lying in the ground instead of delivering the final blow. How he spared him the thirty days of zetsu instead of letting Hakoware run its course. How he looked at him like one of his stray dogs.

 _I’m not a pitiful dog for him to take care of... He’s not my_ friend... _We’re not..._

Still, there was an undeniable tenderness in the way Knuckle held Shoot’s body. His fingers were overly careful not to press into his side. His steps were slow and gentle, making sure not to move too fast. But he wouldn’t look into Shoot’s eyes, only straight ahead. It sent irritation, confusion, and (surprisingly) gratitude all at once through him.

Yet cynicism pervaded his thoughts. It always did. _You_ _don’t deserve this kind of care,_ Shoot told himself. _You’re a coward. You should just be left to struggle on your own. It’s your own fault for being so reckless._

The thoughts subsided when Knuckle nudged him, almost absentmindedly. Almost like he knew he was overthinking again. If he was trying to calm him down, it worked. That’s the kind of person he was. He was gentle. Soft. Kind. Knuckle was so _kind_. Shoot thought back to their fight. Was that... kindness?

Shoot tried not to think about it.

They continued along the street until they reached the apartment complex. It was a high-end building, specifically reserved for hunters who stayed in the city. As a result, there were only six floors; the three men stayed on the second floor since they left to train so often. Even the lobby was quiet as they entered, the excitement of the day subsiding to a low hum of activity. The evening light filtered in through the tall windows, faded oranges and dusty pinks. Morel greeted the receptionist quickly before they headed up the stairs.

Step after careful step, they got to the second floor. The few minutes it took to get to their rooms felt like hours to Shoot. The longer he had Knuckle’s warm skin pressed to him, the more time seemed to drag on. And yet, some horribly irrational part of him didn’t want it to end just yet. He wanted to keep feeling this warm, kind sensation. He wanted to know if there was more to Knuckle’s kindness. He wanted—

“Get some rest, you two,” Morel’s firm voice snapped Shoot back to reality all too quickly. “I’m proud of you, but you’re both taking a break until you’re in better shape.” He pointed those words at Shoot in particular. He shrunk in response.

“And Knuckle, take care of Shoot. I’m sure he’ll need it. Those are my orders.” He gave a quick thumbs up before slipping into his room quietly. Shoot cringed at the last order he gave.

_Take care of him. Yeah, right._

“Y-Yes, sir!” Knuckle replied obediently, fumbling in his pocket to find their room key. It was a little difficult since he was still trying to support Shoot with his other arm. He could tell.

“...I can stand on my own, you know. You don’t have to carry me,” Shoot muttered sheepishly. _I don’t have to be taken care of._ He wanted so desperately to believe that.

“I’m not _carrying_ you,” Knuckle snapped, finally pulling out the key and unlocking the door a little too hastily. “I’m just doing what I have to do.”

 _What he “has” to do._ He scoffed. So it _was_ obligation. That made Shoot loosen up a bit. It made him feel like he was less of a burden. Less of a stray dog and more of a... hmm. Partner still wasn’t the right word. How irritating.

As they entered, Knuckle finally let go of Shoot’s side and headed for the door on the opposite side of the room. As he shut it, he started changing into his lounge clothes, silently huffing at what Shoot said. Shoot didn’t pay him any mind and sat on the small couch in their semblance of a living room, lost in his thoughts.

Sure, it was a nice apartment. It was well accommodated with lobby breakfasts and dinners, a fridge and a mini kitchen, and even a TV. It could almost pass for a decent hotel room, save for the one twin size bed behind the thin wall partition. Since the two of them shared the suite, they alternated between sleeping on the couch and the bed. Neither of them ever really complained.

Tonight was Shoot’s turn on the couch. He sighed and tried to lay down on his back slowly. He winced a little, the pain still fresh in his chest. Ah, that’s right. He needed bandages. He glanced at the door. Knuckle was probably still busy.

 _Well_ , he thought, _I guess I can do it myself._

Shoot winced again as he got up, quietly scolding himself for forgetting something so important. He carefully made his way to the medical drawer in the mini kitchen and searched for the bandages.

Gauze, rubbing alcohol, saline flush— _Oh, I might need that, actually._ Shoot took the roll of bandages in his palm and precariously balanced two syringes between his fingers. Normally he'd use his Nen hands, but the soreness of his body was doing a real number on his concentration.

There were all kinds of medical supplies in the drawer, since the two of them got into quite a few accidents. It was usually Shoot doing the caretaking because of Knuckle’s abrasive nature. Even in their short time training together, he was clearly the more injury-prone. Observation missions turned combat, fights that got out of hand, general scrapes and bruises... most, if not all of those, were Knuckle’s fault. As a result, Shoot was used to bandaging the other’s wounds, but not his own.

 _Ironic,_ he mused to himself. The one body he needed to take care of, and he didn't even know it that well. _That’s fine. I can manage._ The pain in his chest panged again. He ignored it.

But right as he sat down to untie his robe, he heard a soft thud from the other side of the door. Shoot wondered for a second if Knuckle was okay in there. ...What could have caused _that?_ Did he fall over? Did he somehow hurt himself again? Shoot then wondered if he should check on him. Just... just in case... Before he knew any better, he was standing up, his hand gripping the doorknob—

—And all of a sudden, Shoot was flung forward, his hand still on the knob and the door swinging out toward—

“H-Hey, what the hell d’you think you’re doing!?” _Knuckle._ Unluckily, they’d opened the door at the same time, and Shoot came tumbling forward into him. Coming to his senses, he found that he had ungraciously fallen into the arms of his—ugh, partner _still_ wasn’t the right word! Shoot felt his cheeks warming up, but he couldn’t move. Just like when they were fighting, he couldn’t bring his body to leave Knuckle’s—grip? _Embrace?? Oh dear god._ Shoot’s brain wouldn’t stop running. It was one embarrassing thought after another. What the hell was the right word for this?

Knuckle’s arms remained awkwardly entangled around Shoot’s waist. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know where to _begin_ addressing this situation. His mind, not unlike Shoot’s, started racing. _Why was Shoot outside the door? Why hasn’t he left this really weird hug-thing yet? And why is he even standing up in the first place!?_

_This idiot should be resting!!_

Knuckle shook his head and shifted his arms to Shoot’s shoulders, finally pushing them away from each other.

“You gonna answer me or what, dumbass? What were you doing outside the door?“ Knuckle said, trying to cover up his confusion and his equally confused thoughts. He eyed the other with suspicion (although, he’d admit, it was still awkward since Shoot was a bit taller than him).

Shoot noticed that his voice was tinged with not malice, but... concern? He nervously took a step backward, but Knuckle followed. He continued backing up silently until they were both in the living room again. Step, step, step. In some strange sense, they mirrored their battle.

“I...” Shoot started, trying to avoid the other’s heavy gaze. “I was going to... check on you.” The words stumbled out, stuck to his tongue.

“ _CHECK ON ME!?_ ” Knuckle retorted, incredulous and disproportionately loud. Shoot grimaced, thinking of the impending noise complaint. “Why the hell would _YOU_ need to check on _ME?_ ”

Shoot murmured under his breath, “I heard a noise behind the door and... I just wanted to—“

“—I mean seriously, _YOU’RE_ the one who’s injured here!! _I_ should be checking on _you!_ ” Knuckle continued as if he hadn’t even heard him (which he probably didn’t) and crossed his arms indignantly.

“You probably haven’t even dressed those wounds, have you?” Knuckle sneered, pointing at Shoot’s chest. He instinctively pulled his robe tighter.

“O-Of course I ha—“ Shoot stopped and looked down. He felt the bruises ache for a second. Crap. He forgot that he’d gotten up to check on Knuckle before attending to his injuries. He exhaled sharply before looking up again in defeat.

Knuckle scoffed. “Yeah, that’s what I _thought_. Do you even know the first thing about taking care of yourself?” It was a genuine question, but the slight rage still in his voice made it sound like...

“A-Are you really _mocking_ me right now?” Shoot said, furrowing his brow. He knew Knuckle could be insensitive, but _that_ struck a nerve for some reason. He could take care of himself just fine. He couldn’t possibly be a hunter without knowing how. He was fine.

Shoot pushed down the growing soreness in his chest. Yeah. He could take care of himself. No doubt about it.

Knuckle’s eye twitched in a familiar way, the way it did right before he flew off into a rant. Shoot noticed and braced himself for—

“ _I AIN’T MOCKIN’ YOU!!_ WHAT WOULD I DO THAT FOR, HUH!? I’M ASKIN’ YOU A GENUINE QUESTION!!” Knuckle shouted, completely disregarding the lateness of the evening and the other people in the building. He put his hands on his hips and hung his head down, thoroughly upset. “Well, you answered my question anyways. You don’t know the first damn thing about it.”

Shoot sighed. He hadn’t... actually answered it, but... there was no point in trying to argue with him now.

_So then... he actually did want to know if I could take care of myself? But he seemed so mad just now..._

Well, that was just Knuckle. Quick to anger but equally quick to kindness.

“The first thing about taking care of yourself,” Knuckle declared, pointing a finger at Shoot’s face, “is listening to your body.” He looked at Shoot intently, like he wanted him to listen to every word he said. He crossed his arms again and closed his eyes to concentrate.

Shoot blinked. An awkward silence fell between the two.

_...Huh?_

“...”

“Listen up, Shoot. Pain is the body’s way of tellin’ you something’s wrong—“

“...Hey, Knuckle, I don’t mean to be rude but—“ _what is this, health class?_

“—and it’s important to understand what your body needs—“

 _What the... he just keeps talking over me!_ Shoot furrowed his brow and raised his voice a bit. “—Knuckle, I didn’t—“

“—so that you don’t end up hurting yourself even _more_ —“

Suddenly, Shoot raised his arm and gripped one of Knuckle’s wrists, holding it up roughly. His muscles ached in protest.

“— _I_ _know how to take care of myself!_ I don’t need you to take care of me!” Shoot hissed out, louder than he’d wanted it to be. His eyes widened in shame after he realized what he just did, and he slowly let Knuckle’s wrist slip out of his grasp. Surprisingly, he didn’t seem angered or upset.

Shoot winced. Knuckle had that same pitying look in his eyes. Like he was another one of those strays. He hated that look.

After a moment, Knuckle sighed. “C’mon, remove your robe.”

Shoot felt his eye twitch.

 _Where did_ that _come from!?_

"I-I’m sorry, what?" he stuttered out, his face reddening slightly. _This guy can’t let an emotion linger in the air for more than five minutes..._

"You heard me, you ass! Just take it off!” Now it was Knuckle's turn to flush. He sat down on the couch, eyes closed. “I’m just tryin’ to help you. Here, I won’t even look. Geez.”

 _This guy... really is an idiot. I have no idea where to start with him._ Shoot hesitated for a moment, but he relented anyways. He couldn’t imagine the lecture he’d get if he didn’t. He took his seat next to Knuckle tentatively and shrugged out of the top half of his robe. Before he could even ask why he needed to, Knuckle mumbled out an answer.

“...I was just gonna offer to dress your wounds, that’s all.” He lightly took a saline syringe in his hand, opening his eyes. He gently splayed his fingers on Shoot’s chest and looked at each of the welts on his skin. “Is that okay with you?”

But Knuckle was already washing the bruises with the saline flush. Shoot flinched, but not in pain.

 _He’s too kind. Too caring. How can he tell where I’m wounded, even if the marks aren’t obvious? It’s like his fingers already know where to look... Even_ I _don’t know my own body well enough for that. So how come_ he _knows?_

 _He couldn’t know me_ that _well, right?_

After Knuckle patted the cleaned injuries with his t-shirt, he took the roll of bandages in his hand and began wrapping it around Shoot’s chest. He was slow and deliberate, completely focused. Neither of them looked at each other or said a word. But after a few long minutes, it was Shoot who finally broke the silence.

“...I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Knuckle responded earnestly, almost like he had been waiting for him to say something, anything.

...Ah. What _was_ he sorry for? Well, that’s just the kind of person Shoot was. He apologized for things that weren’t his fault. He blamed himself when things went wrong. He insisted he could take care of himself when he never had in his life. Too timid to confront anyone and too reserved to right any wrongs.

Simply put, he found it difficult to value himself.

Shoot came up with an excuse on the spot. “I’m sorry for raising my voice at you... and grabbing your wrist. That was rude.” Well, at least it was true. But what he really wanted to say was, _I’m sorry for making you take care of me like this._

“S’okay.” Knuckle’s concentration wasn’t broken for a second. His voice was even and calm.

Silence fell again. Shoot looked away, too ashamed to watch. This wasn’t normal. _None_ of this was. They’d never talked to each other like this. Despite all the time they spent together, at the end of the day they were still just strangers. Two pupils who had almost nothing in common. Where Shoot was quiet and reserved, Knuckle was loud and boisterous. Where Shoot was careful and observant, Knuckle was reckless and aggressive. Where Shoot was timid and afraid, Knuckle was...

Shoot glanced down where Knuckle’s calloused fingers threaded the bandages around his chest. He was being careful not to pull too tight, and he made sure there was enough slack in the wrappings. Even though he’d never had to take care of Shoot before, he wrapped the bandages as if he’d done it a hundred times. _An undeniable tenderness..._

 _Knuckle was kind._ He was kind and bold and fearless and everything Shoot was not. They were always so close, yet still so far apart.

He could never hope to be friends with him. It was obvious.

_And yet, why do I still want to—!_

“All done.” Nonchalant and distant words.

Shoot’s thoughts were dispelled in an instant. He watched as Knuckle tucked up the excess wrapping and took the roll and syringes in his hand. He watched as Knuckle got up, disposed the used syringes, and placed everything else back in the medical drawer. He just observed. He did his best not to stare.

“Right... th-thanks,” Shoot said under his breath, forcing himself back to his senses. He slipped his arms back into his sleeves and averted his gaze.

“Yeah, yeah,” Knuckle replied, not looking at him. _I’m just doing what I have to do._ His voice echoed in Shoot’s ears, cold and uncaring. Ah. How had he forgotten so quickly? This meant nothing. This was just business. Obligation. If Morel hadn’t told Knuckle to take care of him, he wouldn’t have done anything. Shoot stared at the ground, his head swimming in thoughts that darted left and right. It felt like he was drowning in them. Only one thought rose to the surface:

_That kindness doesn't extend to you. He hardly even knows you._

Knuckle saw the frustration on Shoot’s face—it was practically written all over his aura, anyways—but he forced himself not to look. He knew if he did he’d burst into tears. But _shit_ , Knuckle just couldn't help it—he was his _partner_ , after all. His vision started to blur at the edges. _Damn pity._ It was a bad habit of his. He always took too much pity on others. That, and he cried too easily. He wiped the tears from his eyes roughly before turning back to Shoot.

“Well, aren’t ya gonna get in? You need the rest.” Knuckle was standing awkwardly between the bedroom and the living room, right in front of the doorframe. His arm vaguely gestured to “get in there already, dumbass.” Shoot stared at him before responding quietly.

“No.”

Knuckle’s eye twitched. “ _Huh?_ But why not, ya freakin’ need it!”

“It’s not my night for the bed. I’m sleeping here,” Shoot said calmly, starting to lay down on the couch. Knuckle practically rushed at him, his mouth in a sneer as he grabbed his robe collar and forced him upwards.

“ _Why you_ —stubborn jackass!!” Knuckle snarled, gripping the fabric tighter and closer to him. Shoot’s eyes were steady and apathetic, wondering where that tenderness from before had gone.

 _Ah_ , he realized, seeing the tears prickling the other’s eyes. _It’s right there._

“Just let me take care of you! Stop bein’ so freakin’ prideful for once!” _You’re my partner, dammit!_ Knuckle’s pleas fell on deaf ears. When his angry haze lifted, he noticed a shift in Shoot’s eyes. It wasn’t determination like before, but a sharp cynicism. Bleary, dull bitterness.

The words fell out of Shoot’s mouth like heavy poison, sick and dark.

“You wouldn’t have bothered if you weren’t ordered to by Morel. Don’t act like you have some obligation to me, _partner_.”

Knuckle’s fingers let go involuntarily, struck with dread. His eyes widened in both fury and shock.

“You barely even know me,” Shoot said, his voice barely a whisper.

_I don’t need your pity._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok! this chapter took longer to write than i thought. i spent quite a lot of time proofreading it and making sure it flowed well... i tried to depict Shoot's wavering between the "line" of wanting to be cared for and feeling as though he didnt deserve it (hence "pity"). i hope i conveyed that well... anyways, i hope you guys enjoyed, all three of you :) more to come... sometime
> 
> oh! and heres a floor plan of the apartment i sketched up, if you were curious: https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/735521443739205666/757505533417750558/image0.png


	3. Talk to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Knuckle and Shoot talk. Not directly, but it's a start. Knuckle starts to notice little things about Shoot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AUGUHHF has it really been a month since i last updated this!? ;-; im so sorry everyone but heres the freakin!! third chapter finally! dont worry i totally have a plan for the whole story, i just dont have time to write it down. anyways! please enjoy :)

Dusk settled around the buildings outside, and the night was anxious to make its entrance. It was those fleeting, unsure moments before the moon and the stars would appear in the sky. All was silent. Terribly silent. Unease hung in the dark apartment air between Knuckle and Shoot. It loomed above them like a shadow, determined to snuff out their tiny light of partnership. Knuckle had let go of Shoot’s collar, but he hovered nervously near his face, not knowing if he should back off or stand his ground and _help_ him, for god’s sake.

“You barely even know me.” Shoot’s voice was quiet, but not unheard. Knuckle felt his heart twist at those words. He wanted to yell— _So what!? It doesn’t matter! We’re partners!!_ —but his throat was choked up in that mix of sadness and fear. _Pity._ Knuckle clenched his fist. Knuckle knew Shoot. It pissed him off for some reason he could barely understand (since they weren’t friends, after all), but what kind of partner would he be if he _didn’t_ know him?

He knew that Shoot was reserved and careful. Shoot was kind in his own ways, tending to Knuckle’s wounds and holding him back when he got lost in his emotions. Shoot had a small but steady flame of strength in him. Shoot was the most concentrated and clear-minded person Knuckle had ever met. Shoot was always there to help him when he needed it. Shoot was selfless to a fault. Shoot was also guarded to a fault. So guarded that Knuckle found himself irritated when he couldn’t get past his walls. But even after all that...

Knuckle admired Shoot.

 _Why can’t he see that?_ Knuckle thought. His brow furrowed in the way it did right before he started crying, like he was trying to prevent the tears from coming. Their faces were inches apart. There was nowhere else to look but Shoot’s apathetic glare.

Instead of rattling off all his reasons, Knuckle stared at him. No, not just stared, _observed_. He studied the bags under his eyes, the lines of anxiety on his forehead, the strain in his brow. _He’s trying so hard to mask something, but what?_ Knuckle wondered briefly if Shoot had ever observed him like this, too. He wondered if Shoot even considered him as his partner. That word, _“friend,”_ slipped into his mind again. Were they friends? He sighed softly.

 _You jerk_ , _can’t you just let me take this burden for you? Just this once... as your partner._

“What?” Shoot’s voice cut through his inner ramblings.

Shit, did he say that out loud?

Knuckle reeled out of his thoughts and back into reality, into Shoot’s crushing gaze. When silence filled the air again, he pouted. _Did_ he say that out loud? Or was he imagining something? But Knuckle felt his face heat up as he noticed a change in Shoot’s demeanor.

He wasn’t cold or apathetic or cynical. He was _smiling_. A real, genuine smile.

“What the hell are you talking about, Knuckle?” Shoot half-chuckled, half-tried-to-say-seriously. “A burden? I knew you were dramatic, but—pfft!” The smile suddenly became a full laugh. He raised his hand to cover his mouth out of courtesy. Knuckle watched the lines of anxiety and graveness on his face fade away, as if they were never there. (He noted, in the back of his mind, that Shoot looked much nicer smiling than he did grimacing. It was almost... cute?)

Knuckle shook his head free of the thoughts. He was baffled.

“But... but you were so serious a moment ago! What happened!?”

 _You happened,_ Shoot didn’t say. _You put me at ease._

Shoot was suddenly very grateful for his cautious nature. Unlike Knuckle, he was graced with the ability to not let everything on his mind slip past his mouth. He let himself smirk in pride.

“ _You_ happened. You put me at ease," his mouth said unwillingly.

Knuckle and Shoot stared at each other. Inexplicably, they were both just barely blushing (though they’d never admit _that!_ ). The hand that was hovering near his mouth now fully covered it, as if he wished it could trap the words back in there. The blush spread across his face, and he wished his hand would cover _that_ , too. Shoot was disgustingly aware of every fidget and action he was doing, and he quickly averted his eyes. He prepared himself for the teasing— _“What kind of weirdo says sappy shit like that?”_ —he heard in his head. His heart sank. He felt like an idiot for letting his thoughts slip like that. But Knuckle didn’t laugh at him or mock him.

“I-I’m really glad! Glad that I-I can put you at ease, Shoot,” Knuckle blurted out awkwardly, earnestly. “You’re my... partner, after all.” Shoot noticed the pause before _“partner,”_ but he kept quiet. He let the tight anxiety wound up in his chest spiral out as a sigh.

“How is it... that you always know what to say, Knuckle?” He let his now soft gaze return to meet the other’s. Knuckle’s eyes widened in surprise. He got up abruptly and tried to turn his face away, moving toward the bedroom.

“Oh... w-well, I dunno, really,” he muttered, nudging open the door. “A-Anyways, it’s gettin’ late. You better get your bandaged ass in here before I give ya more reasons to be bandaged.” Knuckle’s threat was thread-bare, and Shoot could tell. It was the first time he could, actually. He finally saw Knuckle as genuine. Caring. _Kind._

“Alright, alright,” Shoot relented and let a smile slip onto his face. (He made sure not to chuckle at how short Knuckle was when he passed him.)

The silence in the apartment settled in the air again, but it was gentler this time. There was no more unease, no more anxiety. The moon and the stars had let themselves creep out into the night sky, and their light glowed in the bedroom. Shoot pulled back the covers carefully and softly sunk himself into the bed. After a little while, the moonlight spilled its way through the wide window and took its rest on the bedsheets. Shoot stared at the pale light and the shadows that danced over it. His heart raced in time with his thoughts. He couldn’t sleep.

Knuckle, on the other side of the thin wall, had grabbed the blanket they kept in the living room drawer and threw it over himself. He lay on his side on the couch, facing that thin wall. He couldn’t sleep, either. There was something on his mind that was troubling him. And so, straightforward Knuckle said the troubling thing on his mind. He’d never been one for overthinking.

“Can I ask you something, Shoot?”

A hesitant silence. Then...

“...Hm?” A hesitant answer.

Knuckle rolled over to lie on his back, staring at the ceiling. No moonlight for him, just the dim outline of the overhead fan. He took a deep breath before responding.

“Talk to me.” It came out as more of a command than a question.

Silence again. This time, he took it as an invitation to speak.

“You said I don’t know you, right?” Knuckle smiled in the darkness. “So talk to me. That’s the only way I’m gonna get to know you, right?”

He heard Shoot’s faint chuckle from the other side.

“You always know what to say...” he replied. Knuckle studied the ceiling fan as he waited. “...Sure. But let me think first.”

“‘Kay.”

“...”

The moonlight seemed to slip its way into the bedroom easily. The floor-to-ceiling window was probably Shoot’s favorite thing in the whole apartment. It slid open to a small balcony, just enough room for two people to lean over the railing and see the quiet nightlife beneath them. He was terribly distracted. His thoughts were all scattered. Opening up to others had never been his forte.

_What should I say first? “Talk to me?” What does that even mean? Should I ask him a question? Or do I just dive into my whole life story?_

Shoot furrowed his brow in annoyance. It would have been helpful if he was a little more specific. Knuckle was nothing if not straightforward... and a skimper on details. He hadn’t said anything in a while. _Oh, hopefully he didn’t..._

“...You didn’t fall asleep on me, did you?”

Knuckle rubbed his eyes.

“‘Course not,” he said unconvincingly.

“You can go to bed if you want, y’know. We can always talk some other time.” _I don’t want to be a bother._

“Nuh uh. Not tired,” Knuckle said through a yawn. Knuckle was terrible at lying. “Besides, when else am I s’posed to get you to talk?”

 _At least he’s honest_ , Shoot thought, sighing out loud.

He mulled over the words in his head one last time before letting them out.

“How did you know where I was hurt? When you were bandaging me?” A pause. “I don’t recall showing you where I was the most injured, and yet... you knew just where it was. And you wrapped those areas more gently than the others. Don’t think I didn’t notice.”

“Easy,” Knuckle said, looking away as though they were in the same room. “‘Cuz I’m the one who hit you, right? I should at least know where I’m aiming...” His voice trailed off. Not like he wanted to aim in the first place.

Shoot brushed his hand over the bandages. _That’s true,_ he thought. _But still... he cared enough to remember where he hit me the hardest? What kind of opponent does_ that? Shoot’s fighting style was concentrated and observant, but when he let loose, even _he_ couldn’t keep that same amount of focus.

“How could I forget the look on your face?” Knuckle muttered. Shoot barely caught it.

“Huh?”

“I mean... y’know, cuz I...” _I felt awful hurting you._ “...nevermind. Forget it.” _Idiot._ Knuckle grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, trying to distract himself.

 _Kindness_. The word shot through Shoot’s spine like a pleasant shiver. That was what had caused him to hesitate before attacking, and wrap his wounds so carefully, and take care of him. It was kindness. But how far was kindness from pity? How much longer until he was no longer a “partner” but a burden?

Shoot forced the thoughts out of his mind and pressed his next question.

“Even if Morel hadn’t asked you to, would you still have taken care of me?”

Instead of an answer, there was a long silence. Shoot immediately started to formulate an apology. A bad habit, but he couldn’t help it.

“A-Ah, well, I guess not ‘take care,’ perhaps ‘tend to,’ or... or something like that,” he stumbled out. He told himself not to let any other frantic babblings come out.

Knuckle was fixated on the faint moonlight rimming the lines of the ceiling fan. He gripped the edges of the pillow. Of course he still would’ve taken care of him. What was he gonna do, dress his own wounds? He thought of an exhausted Shoot, pushing himself past the pain with only his right arm, and he grit his teeth. He needed help, and who else was gonna give it to him? What kind of _friend_ would he be if he _didn’t_ —

Shit. That word again. Knuckle groaned.

What was he even _doing?_ Asking the guy he just beat up and bandaged and argued with to _talk to him?_ What kind of idiot does that!? _An idiot who wants to be “friends,” apparently!_

Knuckle, who always lived with his heart on his sleeve, was struggling to keep it from making itself known now. He was failing. Miserably.

“Knuckle?”

“...”

“Are you—“

“Yeah. I would’ve done it even if you weren’t my partner.” The words were cold and quick.

Shoot noticed the distinct lack of hesitation before that word. _Partner_. It almost seemed like a deliberate statement. Like he was convincing himself that that was all they were. Shoot sighed. Might as well ask him that, too, while he was at it.

“Why did you pause before you said ‘partner’ earlier?” Shoot looked out the window. “It was almost like you were going to say something else.”

 _Because I wanted to call you my friend._ Knuckle made sure not to say that, hiding his heart. He snapped at him instead.

“Y’know, when I said ‘talk to me,’ I meant, ‘tell me about yourself,’ not ‘ask Knuckle every question ever.’ Wasn’t ready to be interrogated,” he pouted in mock annoyance.

In reality, he didn’t want to tell him the truth. That in the few months they’d known each other, he wanted to be friends. Shoot would probably seem him as pathetic if he knew that. Too emotional. Not cut out to be a Hunter. Not cut out to be his partner. Why would he ever consider being his friend, anyways?

“Ah... sorry.” Shoot’s reply came. It was gentle. Not condescending at all. Not mean or cruel. Knuckle scolded himself for seeing Shoot as cruel as that, even if for a second. He wasn’t cruel, not in the slightest. He’d never reprimand his sensitivity. At least, he hoped not. But he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“Let’s just talk tomorrow,” Knuckle huffed, closing his eyes. That was enough emotional turmoil for today. “You need to rest.”

Shoot snorted.

“What’s so funny!?” Knuckle frowned, glancing toward the wall.

“Well,” he smiled, “weren’t you the one yawning earlier?”

“I—No I wasn’t!”

“Maybe _you’re_ the one who needs to rest,” Shoot laughed softly. Sleep began to tug at his eyelids. That heavy and familiar weariness slid over him. The pain in his body faded away as he closed his eyes. It had been a long day. His last thought was, _Thank you, Knuckle,_ before he let himself fall asleep.

At that, Knuckle felt his cheeks heat up. Though he wanted to reply, he heard a soft snore from the other side of the thin wall. He yawned. Guess he’d follow suit.

Knuckle closed his eyes. And thought of Shoot.

...What the hell?

He tried to distract himself. He was reminded of Shoot’s voice. He hugged the pillow tighter. He felt the warmness of Shoot’s chest. Images of his smile flashed in his mind. Genuine, unguarded, happy. No shadow of anxiety or doubt. Just Shoot, real and vulnerable and open for once. His partner. His f—

What the hell.

Knuckle couldn’t sleep. And the thought of Shoot wouldn’t leave him alone.

It was going to be a long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WOOOO YEAHH okay next chapter will be knuckle centered so get ready for that o_o hopefully it wont take me that long to finish!!! hope you liked this chapter! :D


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